


Rosy

by Dimi_Stan (Kookies_Cookie)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Angst, Blue Lions Route, Claude von Riegan is Emotionally Constipated and scared, Dimi is mentioned, Emotional Constipation, Engagement, F/M, Hilda is also emotionally constipated and scared, INTEEEEENSE EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT, Smut, They're dumb idiots, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but really there's no plot Claude has a nightmare and they fuck afterwards, but they're in love, claude is so dom here so I know I failed, eye mean not really but still they're engaged, haha noooo don't die in deridiu i haven't told you i love you yet, idk man they're in love I guess but they won't admit it haha, it's porn disguised as minor plot, takes place after the rescue in deridiu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookies_Cookie/pseuds/Dimi_Stan
Summary: Claude has a nightmare about the time he lost Hilda.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 113





	Rosy

**Author's Note:**

> Lawd I'm back on my bullshit.  
> Follow me on twitter @ dimi_stan for more quality FE3H content.

He’s in Derdriu, and he’s alone, but it’s the same nonetheless; it’s the same commands he screams, the same hoarseness in his voice as he cries out, the same result. 

Hilda is dying. 

She had been hit hard by someone on Edelgard’s team who was charging to Claude and plowed through; Claude can’t remember who it was, but Hilda somehow wasn’t fast enough to dodge the hit, even though Claude _knows_ she can dodge anything. How the hell did that even happen? How did she get hit so hard? How did she not have a moment’s chance to hit back when Claude knows she can defeat anyone with even the least amount of force placed on Freikugel, even the laziest swing?

Claude is thinking too hard on this because he’s trying not to think of what he actually feels: his soul being crushed. 

Because in the end, this isn’t about damn strategy; this isn’t about how Claude specifically planned this for Hilda not to die and he failed. This is about the fact that if Hilda dies, Claude is absolutely going to die. 

Not because he has no one to defend him, no one to stop him from taking hits. Not because he will die of embarrassment because one of his units ignored his orders to retreat. Because he realizes too late, with agonized screams, that it wasn’t that Hilda didn’t dodge in time; the attacker was climbing up to the stage Claude stood at, armed and ready to stab into Claude’s heart, and she came directly in the way _on purpose,_ so that she would die instead. She sacrificed herself for him. 

He’s going to die because he just knows that without Hilda, nothing will fucking matter. She sacrificed herself to protect him, and now he can never fucking repay her, can never hear her cute voice complain about silly things again, can never feel her hand brush on his, can never see the faintest blush on her cheeks when he looks at her and can feel something dangerous boiling in his eyes, too strong for him to stand himself. 

He had no idea where his relationship with Hilda would go; they’d made out, even fucked a few times at the monastery, had gone on outings to the market late at night when all the shops were closed but the fireflies were out (and claimed it wasn’t a date), had sat together at the tower, just talking and in those moments, Claude truly saw that Hilda wasn’t as lazy or selfish as he thought she was. They were so similar. They were both terrified of the world around them, of showing their true thoughts, but they hid it a bit differently; where Claude would study as hard as he could about Fódlan to avoid judgement from its people, Hilda would pretend to be dumb because of something that happened, something that told her no one was worth her time or energy.

Claude never found out what happened to make her think that, and he wishes he did. He wishes he knew why he was the exception, why of all people, Hilda decided Claude was worth her effort, why he was worth saving. 

Claude wishes now, as he holds her bloody corpse in his arms, that he had asked her why. She’s heavy and cold, turning to something like stone far too quickly for Claude’s liking. 

He looks up, seeing Hilda’s killer in one of the Black Eagles, one of his old classmates, one of his friends of the distant past of five years, and he knows what he needs to do, because he will not allow Hilda’s sacrifice for his life to be in vain. 

He arms Failnaught. Aims between the eyes. Shoots before a wind can whistle and before the bird can even blink. 

He awakens in a cold sweat, his skin vibrating against his bones. For a moment, he wonders if he blacked out after shooting, checks his arms to see if there’s blood, but there isn’t, because. . . 

He’s in his room. He’s safe and sound in Almyra. 

Claude shivers as he realizes it was a nightmare. The battle was months ago; Dimitri saved him _months_ ago, and he left to Almyra soon after, knowing well that the Golden Deer were safe after they were recruited to the Blue Lions. They were all okay, were all healthy when he left. 

Even Hilda. 

Because Hilda never died; yes, her injuries were grave because she’s a _fucking idiot_ for being so reckless, but she never perished for Claude. The nightmare only festers because Claude thought she did, thought she couldn’t be saved. He dreams every night that she died for him and he could never repay her. 

But she’s okay. She’s sound asleep next to him on his bed. Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion of the night before and her hand is on his chest, ring glittering under the gentle silver of the moon. 

Claude holds her closer to him, her breasts pressing against his thundering heart and she’s beautiful, so beautiful, so brave, so fucking reckless and he truly would never have her any other way. She’s his silly, unthinking, powerful warrior. 

He kisses her forehead and holds her naked thigh to bring it around his waist. She stirs, but he thinks he feels her settle back into sleep. He kisses her again, between her eyebrows. His own furrow because he’s so desperate for her, almost obsessed. It’s a bit embarrassing because he’s never felt for someone like this, wonders if she even realizes it because he’s never felt this warm under someone else’s touch. He can’t stand not being around her, he finds. 

As if on cue, Hilda stirs again, and this time, she wakes up. Claude can feel her eyelashes fluttering against his jawline. He stiffens as if he was doing something wrong. He wonders if she knows he’s awake and if she’ll fall back asleep if he’s very, very still. 

But she knows. He can feel it. 

“Have that nightmare again?” comes out scratchy from sleep. She doesn’t look at him, but she repositions herself so her face is in his neck, lips gently pressing into his flesh. 

Claude bristles suddenly, remembering that he’s still not comfortable with how easily she reads him, though he knows he should be at this point; they’re best friends, are closer to each other than anyone else. She’s his betrothed, to be appointed his princess in only two months. It’s almost her duty to be able to read her fiancé; it’s not like anyone else can. He realizes he’s gotten too used to hiding. 

Even without an answer, Hilda exhales against Claude’s skin. “It’s over, darling,” she says. “We’re safe. I’m here, with you.” 

Claude rolls onto his back and she is pliant as he drags her with him, ending up leaning over his chest, the metal of her ring cold. She hums and he says nothing. 

“I don’t regret it.” She finally looks at his face, those pale-pink eyes droopy and endless. 

He exhales, surprised to find that it’s shaky. He runs his hand through her long hair, gently untangling knots that get caught on his fingers. 

“I’d do it again,” she continues, her voice hot. “If they come back I _will_ do it again.” 

“ _No,_ ” he says before thinking—as he often does around her—his voice somehow both firm and brittle as his arms tighten around her. 

He can feel her eyes on him even as he looks up to avoid looking at them and acknowledging what he said, at the canopy of his bed adorned with traditional Almyran beads that match the ones in his hair. 

“Why not?” she still asks, even though he suspects she knows. 

“Because,” is all he says, and when he looks at her, she’s frowning. 

He knows what he wants to say _(he doesn’t want to lose her again),_ but he can’t get it out. Hilda continues to stare at him, her eyes still as droopy, tired, seemingly bored as usual. 

He knows she’s not bored though. She’s probably pretending she is because, like him, she has a shield she won’t put down for anything. At least for now. 

Claude wonders if she would lower hers after he did his. 

He decides to try without another thought given. He says, “I don’t want something like that to happen again,” and it’s a half-truth; they both know it. “The world doesn’t deserve such a horror again.” That’s a whole truth, but it’s not what either of them wants to hear or say. 

Hilda looks deep into him, brings her hand down his arm, down, down, until her nails are raking the skin of his thigh. “Claude,” she whispers against his cheek, bringing her hand back up to lace her fingers with his, “I’d do anything.” 

Claude swallows. “For what?” He knows what; he just wants to hear her say it. Neither of them really say enough, are doing this entire thing backward with guards raised and armored souls and fear shaking on their skin. 

So much fear. Claude wonders if they’ll ever shed it. 

But he feels the first flake fall when he sees her cheeks turn red, sees her lips pout gently, hears the shiver in her voice. 

“For you.” 

He knows it’s the truth. It’s that first step, the first time she’s ever really admitted it, and the realization makes it even more obvious that they’re doing this entire thing backward, but Claude can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t need to realize how he feels, because it’s becoming more clear the more he ponders on it. 

Yet, his voice also shakes when he says, “I don’t want to lose you.” It makes Hilda’s entire face crumble, makes her rock with a sob against him. 

He closes his eyes and grips her hair harder, pushing her face against his as he kisses the crown of her head desperately. He’s breathless somehow, caught it the net of her voice and in what he feels for her, which he still can’t quite say, even to himself.

“Claude,” comes out of her mouth in a soft breath, almost a tempting moan. Sensual, gentle, everything to him.

She climbs just a little higher up his chest to kiss him, gripping his hair to pull him closer. Her lips are soft against his, and he can’t help himself, though the speed they’re going at makes his head spin. He can’t tell her to stop. 

She pulls away just as he’s running his hand along her naked waist. She’s breathless, her cheeks just a tint redder. 

“I’d do anything for you,” she says again, but with more conviction, as if she thinks Claude doesn’t believe her. “I’d kill _anyone_ for you. I’ll always protect you.” Her bottom lip quivers as she says it, but Claude fucking believes her, fucking needs her so badly, fuck, fuck, he’s obsessed. 

He kisses her again, making her let out a soft whimper when he bites her bottom lip and pulls it carefully. She chases after him when he pulls away, only held back by his hand on her shoulder. 

“Just stay here,” he tells her, because even with how close she is, he still can’t quite say what he actually means. His nose touches hers, lips only the cock of a chin away from hers, and he hopes she knows what he means. 

Her gentle hum, soft nuzzle of her nose against his cheek tickles Claude’s heart. She sniffles and holds him tighter. She doesn’t say anything, and Claude knows it’s because she probably doesn’t agree with him; she’s hardheaded, will still protect him no matter what. It’s what she’d done in Deridiu, what she’ll continue to do. 

But as she looks at him, eyes warm, Claude imagines it won’t be a problem, imagines that it’s just the way it needs to be. He needs to accept her as she is, he thinks. After all, doesn’t he want her because she’s herself? 

He doesn’t want to lose her, he still realizes. But maybe if he protects her too, he won’t worry so much. 

He leans forward, kissing the skin of her shoulder, sucking a hickey into it. She releases another soft breath, her hand coming to the back of his head to hold onto his hair, and wow, she has his heart. It had belonged to her even before he asked her to be with him forever, before she came with him to Almyra, even before Deridiu. 

He’s at her neck, nibbling it and making it red, when she whispers, “Claude.” 

“What?” he asks, his voice a bit gravelly because fuck, he thinks he’s getting hard already. Fuck, she does such insane shit to him. 

He’s spurred now, desperate to hear what her sounds can turn into. His hand trails from her shoulder down to her hip, then the inside of her thigh, his thumb so close to her center that he could rub it against her little nub if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t commit to it. The closest he gets to her is right outside her folds, then he rubs on them, hissing and biting back a groan when he feels that she’s _soaked._ He’s about to die, he needs to fuck her. 

She mewls quietly, pulls at his hair, and Claude finally brings his head back to look at her, his composure broken (but then again, that doesn’t matter around her, for some reason). She’s broken too, eyes half-lidded and almost tearing up as she looks at him, bringing her teeth down on her bottom lip. 

“Claude,” she says again, desperately, like she’s afraid he won’t listen to her pleas. Just the thought that she might think he won’t listen to her makes him kiss her hard, but she whines again and pulls him back, harder than before and with more strength that brings a nice sting to his skull. 

“What?” He doesn’t mean to bite it out, but fuck, he’s hard now and he fucking needs to start doing _something_ right this instant or he’ll explode. 

The next moan she lets out shakes, and he doesn’t need to wonder long why. He smirks at her, feels her shiver against him, surely even wetter now and the thought turns Claude on too much. 

He exhales, kisses her again, still smirking and knowing his lips are curling against hers. 

And yet, “Claude,” comes out of her mouth a third time. 

“What?” he growls again. 

She exhales, pauses. He looks at her, a bit concerned now, though it doesn’t overshadow how aroused he is. 

What does she want to say? He wonders if she wants him to stop, moves to bring his hand back to her hip rather than her thigh, but _no oh fuck._

She grabs his wrist as he moves, shivering and bringing his hand to cup her core, and Claude nearly chokes on his own saliva as if it’s the first time he’s touching her. 

She’s still looking at him, hot, hot, burning. 

“Claude, make love to me,” comes out soft, stuttered, and it has Claude choking again. 

She’s never said it like that. When they had sex while at the ruins of Garreg Mach, in Claude’s old room, she rarely said anything at all apart from Claude’s name, bent with her moans; of course she didn’t put a name on what they were doing. The night before Deridiu, still vibrant in Claude’s mind, she begged him to fuck her hard, because it might be the last time he ever would, and he did, so hard she probably would have complained about her wobbly legs the next day if they both weren’t terrified out of their own skins. Here, in Almyra, she’s similar to their time in the monastery; she rarely says anything except for his name along with superlatives, pleas to go harder, harder, faster, faster, hold her closer, closer. 

Three words have always been in the back of Claude’s mind since he first had sex with her, but they never became concrete. In recent days, he wants them to. He’s realized that this, _sex,_ is more now. Like she said, it’s lovemaking. Claude’s never considered this lovemaking with anyone else, but of course it’s different with Hilda. 

Of course. And he doesn’t even mind now. 

The guard comes down. 

He kisses her again, then her neck. 

“I love you,” he mumbles against it, and Hilda gasps softly. His hands go to her thighs, holding them both open. He pushes her until she’s laying on her back, hair billowing out on the foot of his mattress, scattered like the blush on her cheeks. Claude’s heart almost stops beating. 

She’s so fucking gorgeous in front of him, eyes closed as she awaits what he’ll give her, how he’ll bring her to euphoria, and he can’t wait to show her, can’t believe he has this. 

He leans down, brings his tongue to her neck and then down to her collarbone, which he kisses as she moans, encouraging him. His mouth comes to the underside of her breasts, plump but soft underneath his nose. She shakes as he kisses one of them, bites underneath it to leave a red mark. His hands are holding both her breasts, pushing them closer together so they squish against each other and he can lick across them. 

Hilda’s quite shapely. Claude never considered himself a breast guy—and he’d told Sylvain as much when he asked a couple of years ago—but after Hilda, he’s a changed man. Her breasts are just so wonderful, round, plump, but soft to the touch with the most sensitive nipples Claude’s ever teased on a girl. 

Speaking of such. 

Hilda’s gasp is sharp and loud as Claude predicted when he flicks his finger upwards. He hopes his parents hear next door, despite how thick the walls are supposed to be (serves them right for bugging him and Hilda for not being intimate enough to be an “actual couple”). He has lewd thoughts, fights them because they involve a discussion he most certainly can’t have with Hilda when they are only just now admitting they love one another. 

He looks up, his mouth still on the underside of her breast. 

Her face his completely red. Tears are dripping down her cheeks, and Claude can’t believe she’s this sensitive already. To make sure, he brushes his fingers against her core, against her wetness, and earns himself a shaky moan from her pink lips. 

“You like it?” He knows she does, so he doesn’t mind that he receives no answer from her except for a gasp. 

He hums, suckling on the skin of her breasts before coming to her nipple and licking it, which gets him another gasp; at the same time, he teases a finger inside of her, testing the waters of her body as if he hasn’t done this dozens of times. The double onslaught on her seems to make her confused or indecisive—and Claude loves it; she grips his head hard, tries to force him onto her chest, but also rocks her hips into his finger. 

He briefly remembers that he needs to ask her how many guys she’s slept with (he doesn’t think there were too many); his ego hopes that he’s the only one who’s made her come at all. He hopes she knows he’s never come as hard with anyone as he has with her. 

The second finger goes in smoothly, brings another moan from her lips. He circles his tongue around the nipple he was just lazily lapping at, then starts sucking on it as his fingers start pushing in and out gently, and the noises she makes—both from her mouth and otherwise—are so, so good. Claude will never be able to get enough of this. He spreads his fingers apart inside her, relishes in the way her legs twitch and her head throws back. 

She whimpers “Sothis almighty” into the air as if the goddess will answer her. It brings a smirk to Claude’s face as he looks at her blushing face. 

“Not my name, darling,” he coos, his tone degrading as if he’s not harder than a rock, “can’t believe you’re like this already.” 

“Shut up.” She doesn’t mean it; it comes out as a moan. 

Claude chuckles, decides to finally take his mouth away from her nipple after giving it one last nip. He comes up to her face, his fingers still inside of her, covered with her, and kisses her lips, her exhale hot against his mouth. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, trying to give him another kiss, though it’s more just her opened mouth inhaling his breath. 

“What?” he asks her, hooking his fingers up and making her back bend sharply. 

He looks closer at her face, at her furrowed eyebrows, closed, teared up eyes, her opened mouth. The sight makes his skin hot, and he wants it, embraces it. He’ll never feel as good as he does with her. 

He groans impatiently. Pulls his fingers out, much to her disappointment and opened eyes. He looks at her, opens his mouth and lets his tongue hang out, and she moans at the sight. 

That’s his okay. 

He brings his head between her legs, and presses his mouth against her, immediately sucking on her nub, and her hand flies to his hair to grip it hard. He loves that feeling, sucks again like he did with her nipple, except with just a tinge more gentleness because he knows she’s sensitive. 

He then licks a stripe from inside her, up to the bump, and her breath is heavy. She’s soaking his lips, her taste on his tongue. 

He brings his fingers to join his tongue, presses them inside her at the same time he sucks again, and she pulls his hair so hard he’s surprised no strands come out with her grip. She moans loudly, gasps his name, again, again, again. 

Claude smirks against her, gives her another lick, loving the pain on his scalp and the sounds she’s letting out. When he pushes up inside her and sucks her again, she practically screams, her other hand coming to his hair as she releases against his mouth. 

He continues lapping on her until she whines, this time in pain, and pushes his shoulder with her knee. 

“Stop,” she says in a soft grumble, and Claude obeys, smirking when he meets her eyes. 

He leans down and kisses her nose, then her cheek, and finally her lips. His hand finds itself in her hair, just playing with it as he kisses her. When he stops just for a second, he keeps his nose on hers, just inhaling her in. 

And it slips out. 

“I love you.” 

Hilda shivers and blushes, turning away from him. He hums, understands the reaction, but still kisses her cheek. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, gets another shiver in response, followed by the nod he feels from her cheek moving against his nose. 

Claude spreads her legs wider, and Hilda grips his arms, though her back stays down. He preps himself in long, languid strokes, and then he’s pressing inside her, making her inhale sharply and dig her head further into his mattress. 

She already came, so he won’t last long, but he tries to savor in it, tries to be slow. She’s tight and wet, squeezing him. He feels like he’s surrounded, feels almost claustrophobic, can’t help the moan he lets out. Her nails dig into his arm. 

He rocks her steadily into his bed, her gasps soft and only slightly bent around overwhelmed moans. Her entire body is tinted in pink, the most beautiful shade, and Claude can’t believe she’s his. He feels almost possessive, grips her hip and pulls her into him in this stuttering rhythm. 

He doesn’t need to go all that fast. Before long, he needs to pull out with a hiss and release on her stomach, making her sigh contentedly. He kisses her neck and groans against it, loving when her nails graze his back and come up to his hair. 

“I love you,” he finds himself saying again, his heart racing so fast he thinks he’ll explode. At this point, he doesn’t think he wants to say anything else. "With everything that I am, I love you, Hilda." 

Hilda nods, shaking, her eyes closed, skin buzzing. He takes her hand and squeezes it, then lets go to find the towel they used earlier in the night, though he freezes when he hears her whisper, “I’d die for you” like she doesn’t expect him to be listening. 

His jaw clenches as he remembers the nightmare, shivers because he really doesn’t want to relive that. He puts his hand in her hair again, tightening it into a fist for just a second and smiling at the soft mewl she lets out. 

He kisses her. 

He keeps looking for the towel, and then he carefully cleans her stomach and thighs after he finds it. 

“You’ll always be reckless, huh?” he says, absentmindedly for once. Always with her. 

“Why’s it reckless?” she asks, half-asleep. He looks at her and smiles softly, taking her in his arms and kissing her shoulder as he feels sleep dig at his bones. 

“‘Cause I just want you to live for me,” he tells her, exhaling shakily at his openness. 

She hums. “I will,” she mumbles. He can tell it’s not what she wants to say. 

He nuzzles her neck. Waits. 

Then she sighs. “I love you,” she whispers, insanely quietly. Claude has to listen hard. 

But he squeezes her tighter and kisses her again, making her whimper against his lips. 

She has his heart. He thinks he’s loved her forever, will keep loving her until he dies. 


End file.
